


Black Hills, Clear Skies

by The_Grynne



Category: Deadwood, Firefly
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Grynne/pseuds/The_Grynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new doctor in Deadwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Hills, Clear Skies

_Fireflies in dark flight flash. Waking_  
Waterbirds begin calling, one to another.  
All things caught between shield and sword,  
All grief empty, the clear night passes.

\- Tu Fu, 'Restless Night' (trans. David Hinton)

 

 

 

**Black Hills, Clear Skies**

  
Come the day when Al Swearengen had five with Adams' brains in his trust, or one Pinkerton woman with better sense, opting not to work for those shitheels, failing that unlikely turn of events, there would still be a place at the Gem for Johnny. The hammer that swings reliably at a cant, wielded proper, has its fucking uses. Wheeling spunk splattered laundry back and forward, just one meager example, often overlooked.

'I'd swear on it, Al,' said the rag-herder. 'A white doctor, looking into one of Wu's men, down in Chinaman's alley. He had the full satchel of instruments and all.'

'You sure it weren't Cochran?'

'Naw, he was younger. Clean-shaven.'

Definitely not the Doc, then. While no longer having the appearance of a man about to keel over with a lung-full of blood, "clean" had yet to be an accurate description of any part on his person, unless all that noble self-righteousness had finally taken on a scouring effect. Al sat back in his chair and sipped at his tin mug of coffee.

'And you wanna know the peculiar thing?' Johnny continued, brows pinched together in thought. 'Chink-woman, damn near hit me in the face with a pair of bloomers, erecting sheets and poles to obstruct the fella.' He lowered his voice, and added, 'I reckon they didn't want me knowing he was there.'

Myriad fucking possible rejoinders to that one, none worth the fucking effort.

'It ain't right, white man treating a Chinaman, messin' about with their fluids...'

Time to get to the bottom of this, before the shit-for-brains started blabbing to all and sundry, and Al had a camp in uproar on his hands. 'Fetch Wu, then go find the Doc,' he said.

'Young fella?'

'Cochran!'

  


 

 

 

  
Mugwort leaf to stop bleeding. _Ai ye_; _Artemisia vulgaris_.

For infection of the vagina, water boiled with cnidium seeds, sopora root, stemona root, bark of the amur cork-tree, and alum. _She chuang zi_, _ku gen_, _bai bu_, _huang bai_, _ku fan_.

Tea for Ling-hsien, afraid for her unborn baby. _Gu shen an tai yin_. Fresh compress for Little Wu. Repeat each morning, until Simon takes out the stitches.

Valerian root for River. Valerian for sleep.

  


 

 

 

  
Deadwood was not what Simon imagined. It bore resemblance to a town more than a camp. He had hoped for the unruly backwardness of a camp, bloody though it is; order presents the greater dangers.

He had yet to walk down the main thoroughfare in daylight, limiting himself to the Chinese quarter where he worked and slept. Deadwood's own Chinese physician had died last winter, leaving the apothecary shack, stationed between a restaurant and a laundry, to fall into disuse. Fluent in their language, Simon had offered to treat the community in return for food, bed, and their silence; and they were happy to keep his secret. It was upon the prejudices of his fellow whites that Simon now depended for his security, his and River's, here as elsewhere before this.

Still, he had hoped for a camp, that he might linger a while longer. It seemed like everywhere they went now, they found telegraph poles, stretching across the hills, and the ever-reaching arm of the law.

  


 

 

 

  
Wu was no help.

Crazy fucking chink understood "doctor" just fine, Al could tell, but he just frowned and waggled his head and hands in a side-to-side motion, the universal language for: _No_.

Cochran arrived belligerant, mopping sweat from his brow. 'I hope there's a good reason that this couldn't wait, because I examined the girls yesterday, and right fucking now, I have a knifing to get to.'

'And here I thought the elections would bring in a wave of peace and prosperity,' said Al. He poured two shots, sliding one over the desk. 'Was it one of the hoppleheads, or somebody of consequence?'

Cochran, still standing, gave the whisky his usual glare of suspicion before downing it. 'A couple of Hearst's Chinese miners, them as work the graveyard shift.'

'Hearst's muscle wouldn't have left anything requiring a doctor.'

The hands around the handle of the physician's bag tightened. 'No, I guess not. Must have been a private matter. If that's all, Al...'

'With so many urgent demands on your time, Doc, why don't you tell the chinks to send for their own doctor? I hear he's an enterprising young man, open-minded, able to converse freely with the Celestials in their own native tongue.' Al watched him closely for a reaction, and just as predicted, Cochran's face immediately stilled in a deep, simmering blankness.

'I don't know of anyone among the Chinese that can handle a life-threatening knife wound. Speaking of which,' he said, 'I've got to go.'

Al rose and opened the door for him. 'I must have been misinformed. Wouldn't be the first time.' First Wu, now Cochran, lying to his face to protect this man. Did they all think that he'd gone soft? Backed out of the fight with Hearst, his throat-slitting days behind him, is that what they're all thinking? And who is this cocksucker that's got the Chinese helping him? Another Pinkerton agent, this time recruited from the orient? That would be just his fucking brand of luck.

When time enough had passed for Cochran to have shuffled his way onto Main Street, Al stuck his head out of his office and gave Adams, waiting at the bar, a look.

  


 

 

 

  
Simon shut and locked the door; he was throwing his diary and shaving kit into the top of the valise, as River made complex nautical knots in the straps of her over-large boots instead of putting them on, when someone rapped loudly on their tightly closed shutters. 'Dr. Tam!'

Motioning at River to remain silent, Simon called out: 'Who is it?'

'It's Dr. Cochran, with an important message concerning you and your sister.'

Simon let him in, locking the door again behind him. 'I'm afraid you come upon us at a most unfortunate time, sir.' A single lamp lit the tiny shack, leaving once again in obscurity the little boxes and shelves of unnamed powders and herbs, to which River, as she puzzled out their contents, had begun to affix labels, with the name of each written in Chinese, Latin, and then English. Simon looked back at their guest. 'Mr. Wu was just here; he warns that we could be in danger, and has left to purchase horses on our behalf. River and I must be gone from Deadwood before the morning.'

'Before you go, would you please hear what I have to say?'

'Of course,' said Simon. 'You have been a great friend to us here.'

Cochran smiled gently at River, who smiled back. 'Dr. Tam, Miss Tam,' he said, 'know that you have been a comfort and a help to many in the short time that you have been here, and that I will be very sorry to see you leave.'

'As will we be saddened to say good-bye...abandoning our charges, no differently from my predecessor and with less excuse.'

'Then don't.' Cochran raised his hands to forestall Simon's protests. 'The man whom you are afraid will discover your true identities, having no love for them that are searching for you and your sister, is, in my estimate, _more likely_ to offer you safety than to turn you in, recognising the value of one such as yourself, a physician to supplement my limited skills, and fluent in several languages, within this camp.'

Simon was still a moment, then said stiffly: 'Would you have me risk my sister, sir, on the basis of your judgement of another's character?'

'I would see an end to this fleeing from lawless place to lawless place,' Cochran insisted. 'I would see you put your training _to good use_.'

River laughed suddenly. 'Training should not go to waste. And grown men shouldn't eavesdrop...'

Flinging the shutters open, she reached her arms through, the leather straps she had been toying with slung between her hands, and pulled it tight around something. Simon heard a choking noise; his hand went to the derringer in his pocket. Both he and Cochran raced outside, weapons out.

A number of Chinese were already gathered, ready to give support. Cochran swore when he saw the man that River was strangling with her bootlaces. 'You cocksucker.'

  


 

 

 

  
_Holy Mother of God_, thought Al when he first saw the new doc, walking into the Gem through the back with Cochran, all stiff and disapproving, and not a little afraid. Too pretty to fit in anywhere outside of London or New York, no matter how shabby his jacket, or how many patches on his shirt. _Not another one._

As soon as they got down to talking, however, he amended that thought. The young doctor knew himself well, had no problems speaking common sense. And he had balls, coming in here after first trussing up Adams like a Christmas roast, then letting him go, with the instruction to tell his boss everything that he'd overheard. Al liked him already. The mysterious sister, too.

'Very well. It's a deal, Dr. Tam.'

'I want to hear you say it.'

Adams coughed from his chair. 'Sorry, sore throat,' he said, when Al glared at him.

Al turned to the young doctor. 'Do your good work in Deadwood, among whom you please, where you please. Be my go-between with Wu and any other Chinese I might have to have dealings with. In exchange, I'll support your story. I won't ask your real names, or try to find them out by other means. I ever learn of anything that could pose a threat to you and your sister, myself included, I'll give you fair warning so you can both scamper off.'

Dr. Tam smiled. 'Can I trust you, Mr. Swearengen?'

'Can you trust the self-interest of a dishonest man?'

'Only if you can trust a man that doesn't drink whisky.'

They shook hands.

'A piece of advice,' Al said, pouring himself a drink, 'now that we understand each other, and you and your sister aren't liable to be disappearing into the night at the slightest provocation. In the interest of making it easier for both of us to keep to our bargain, and to divert as much unwanted attention as possible from yourself: grow a fucking beard.'

  
THE END

_4 April 2010_


End file.
